Groomzilla
by TheRockNRollBeauty
Summary: Stress from planning their wedding has turned Alfred cruel and self-centered-and Ivan begins to wonder whether he should go through marrying his one-time beloved or not. RusAme wedding angst.


**I was actually...surprised at the reaction to this fic on tumblr. I really, really meant for it to be funny-I watch a lot of Bridezillas, so I thought it would be amusing to see Alfred act like that-but then it ended up being angsty and sad. :C**

**Copious amounts of asshole!Alfred in this fic. **

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><p>Ivan sat cross legged on the couch, hands busy with preparing the favors for the <em>wedding, the wedding that was in two weeks,<em> tying red, white and blue ribbons over the tiny favor and attaching gaudy silver stars to the tiny bows. He was increasingly frustrated, as the loops proves all to often to be too small for his thick fingers to fit through. Ivan grumbled as he yanks on a piece of ribbon, wondering why the _hell_ they hadn't gotten someone with slimmer fingers—perhaps Matthew, his to be brother in law—to finish the favors instead.

In truth, Ivan was sick of planning and preparing already. All he wanted truly was to have his lover for many years become one with him in the eyes of the law, to share a sacred and special bond together that would last long into the future—

_Although_, Ivan thought with a feeling of anger and sadness in his chest, _he wasn't sure, now, whether he wanted to forge that bond with who his lover had become. _

He heard shuffling in the other room after the slam of the front door, accompanied by the clatter of car keys on their kitchen counter and a loud call from the adjacent room.

"Ivan.** Ivan!**" The older man practically groaned aloud at the sound of _that_ voice—once so sweet and kind and full of tenderness and "I love yous"—grating nasally on his ears.

Ivan forced a small smile as he set down the botched party favor and folded his hands together on his lap, looking up to the other man standing in the doorway.

"Yes, _Fredka_?"

Alfred is leaning up against the doorframe, his hair tied back in a short bun, smudged glasses hung low on the bridge of his nose; clad in a stained T-shirt, jacket, and a pair of bulging gray sweatpants. He'd obviously just made a run to the local fast food restaurant by the tell tale greasy box of chili cheese fries that he was currently forking into his mouth. Ivan kept his smile pleasant, despite the sight of his fiancé stuffing his face with fat and calories.

"I see you got something to eat, yes? You are coming just in time, I am almost done with the favors, but you may help—"

"You better not be thinking of eating all that," Alfred interrupted around a mouthful of fries, pointing to the half empty bowl of plain noodles that Ivan had prepared as a snack earlier and had forgotten to finish. Ivan tried to force a smile at his "beloved," knowing all too well what exactly Alfred was insinuating.

Yet, he took the bait anyway.

"And why would I not, _Fredka_?"

Predictably, Alfred snorted and rolled his eyes, stuffing another forkful of cheese fries into his mouth before continuing, spraying crumbs over his chest.

" 'Cause when we went for the tux fitting last, your big fatass stomach almost didn't make it fit."

Ivan could only chuckle and wonder _how_ Alfred could call _him_ fat, unless of course Alfred had not looked into a mirror recently, which was essentially impossible, seeing how lately his lover had become _insufferably_ vain.

Ivan couldn't help but be baffled about how Alfred _could_ be so vain, considering the drastic toll the wedding had taken on his appearance and physique. Over the past three weeks of constant wedding planning Alfred's occasional excessive snacking had ballooned into manic stress eating. Alfred could barely keep a calm demeanor unless he was shoveling food into his mouth, and even then he was _still_ barking out commands to Ivan and his beleaguered groom party.

And the compulsive eating had certainly taken its toll. Alfred had always been soft but moderately cut—but lately he was sloppier, wearing nothing but sweatpants and loose T-shirts in order to accommodate his growing middle. Alfred had been a slob before—but his messiness had always been strangely endearing and almost _cute_ to Ivan.

The older man looked at his lover, barely aware that Alfred had been talking the whole time, taking in his appearance, the way Alfred smacked his lips together after each sentence and mouthful of food, they way he wiped his grease-stained hands on the chubby swell of his stomach as he nagged and berated Ivan without end.

"—And there's absolutely no way in _hell_ I'm going to pay for you to get your tux adjusted, asshole. That's for sure."

Ivan smirked, predicting that it would be Alfred who would be needing the stitching on his garment taken out a few sizes. He bit his tongue on that, hating how the thought of Alfred's dismay now brought out a _happy_ feeling, but couldn't resist a small jab at him, especially since Alfred had brought up the issue of _money_.

"And yet, we somehow found room in the budget for your parade of chocolate fountains, yes? And the ice cream and candy bar, I believe."

Alfred swallowed down the last of his fries before giving Ivan the finger, "Fuck the hell off, Ivan, it's my fucking wedding, and whatever the fuck I want, I'll have."

Ivan gritted his teeth, biting his tongue at Alfred before turning away, looking at the tersely clasped hands on his lap. Yes, that had certainly become Alfred's mantra in the past few weeks. The devil may care demeanor was certainly not a new aspect of Alfred's personality. But this new attitude was nothing like how the Alfred of the past would behave—living each day as his last, splurging the extra dollar or so to get another scoop on his ice cream cone, or smothering Ivan with before bed kisses "just because"—Ivan dearly missed that Alfred. He found himself unable to comprehend how that Alfred had been hiding _this one_ all along.

This Alfred, who shouted at Ivan when he had purchased the "wrong" color of shirt for his tuxedo. This Alfred, who had belittled his to be mother in law, _Ivan's own mother_ when she had suggested some decorations in the style of a traditional Russian wedding. This Alfred who made scathing and snide remarks to his friends and to Ivan's friends and sometimes to Ivan's own face, calling him horrible things, things that he had _never_ said to Ivan before, even in previous arguments about issues that were much more dire—issues that they had gotten over _together_.

And then, of course, there was the Alfred who had forbidden Ivan from inviting either of his sisters—citing one as a "crazy psycho bitch" and the other for having "monster tits" that would draw the attention away from Alfred on _his_ day.

But, out of everything that was what hurt Ivan the most—the fact that Alfred insisted on calling everything _his_.

His invitations.

His decorations.

His guests.

His regiment of chocolate fountains.

His wedding cake.

_His wedding._

Ivan's eyes were burning, though the other man in the room doesn't notice, already on the phone with their wedding planner, again barking orders.

The only thing Alfred should be able to call _his_ is his lover. _His Ivan. _

He covered his face, shoulders trembling.

None of this was right. None of this was _fair_.

Ivan had absolutely hated, _hated_ these past few weeks of their engagement. The way their life was at the moment—it terrified Ivan, because he felt as if he was looking through a window into the future. Would this be what he and Alfred would be like from now on? No more tender words and kind embraces, no more breathtaking smiles from Alfred and soft grins from himself? Ivan didn't want to think that the feelings of warmth and security he had around Alfred could be permanently replaced with frustration and anger.

Alfred had left the room but Ivan could still hear his voice rising in pitch as he continued to yell at their planner, and Ivan couldn't stop himself when he heard his lover's voice so angry and _hateful _so his eyes welled up and he had to stifle the wetness and weakness and the small cries into the scarf draped loosely about his neck.

Ivan wondered, through his wet eyes and quiet sniffs, if perhaps they could just run away and _elope_. Or they could just call off the entire wedding, and simply return to the way things were, before all of this, before Ivan had led Alfred to the beach cliffs near their small apartment and held the puzzled but content man's hands and got down on his knee and asked him to share their lives together, and Alfred had had _tears_ of happiness in his eyes when Ivan presented him a box with a hand-picked white gold band and Alfred had cried out _yes_ and hugged Ivan and the older man in his exuberance had picked up his young fiance and spun him around, both laughing and crying and eventually falling into kisses.

And later that night when they lay together in bed Ivan had asked Alfred what he wanted for his wedding and Alfred had leaned over and cupped Ivan's face in his hand and whispered _ours. _


End file.
